


The Few Things More Important Than Egg-on-Rice

by SpiritPhantasm



Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen, Manga Spoiler, Time Travel, spoiler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-06-23 08:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15601986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritPhantasm/pseuds/SpiritPhantasm
Summary: The Machine Gengai made to fulfill his wish malfunctions. Instead of unlimited egg-on-rice, it returns to Gintoki the one thing he thought he'd never get back.Another chance to see his master's smile.





	1. The Few Things More Important Than Egg-on-Rice

**Author's Note:**

> This thing contain SPOILER, if you still read through that then there’s two important tags I can’t put on the tags. This story contains:
> 
> 1\. Shouyou and Utsuro are two different people AU
> 
> 2\. Non-immortal Shouyou AU

That sunset-red afternoon, the Karakuri-dou is filled with blood-curling screams of three dying thieves followed by furious coughing. Unable to hold back the pressure, the store’s heavy doors burst open with an amount of smoke that would make fifty smoke bombs going off simultaneously sulk in jealousy. 

Tears pool in Gintoki’s stinging eyes. He squeezes them shut so no tears could escape and buries his face into the sleeve of his yukata. From his side he can hear Shinpachi and Kagura coughing as well, the latter yowling a hundred different variation of ‘shitty old geezer!’. Even in the chaos with no visibility, Gengai’s voice is as he gave out instructions and soon the smoke are sucked out with a loud whirring, ventilation working overtime with no pay. But its hard work reveals the pitiful sight of the three Yorozuya members who lay sprawled on the floor, twitching and wriggling like worms in the sun. A Yato clansman, a dojo instructor and the Shiroyasha, defeated by mere fume. 

“Gintoki-sama, Kagura-sama, Shinpachi-sama, are you alright?” Tama’s soothing voice is followed by her appearing in Gintoki’s peripheral. Though her tone is neutral, there’s a crease between her eyebrows that suggested worry, immediately winning over Gintoki’s forgiveness. But the one who hasn’t….

“You ancient bogger minefield!” Gintoki shouted, or tried to shout because his throat reminded him painfully that he just breathed in the wrong thing. In between coughs, he squeezes out cusses and complains, Kagura’s voice joining his doing the exact same thing just a bit more high-pitched. “The heck was that!”

“I told you do not touch the machine. The second limiter is not installed yet!” Gengai nags with that exasperated tone he often used when Gintoki’s stupidity stumped him. 

“Who put such a Doraemon-esque machine so out in the open? Of course we’ll touch it, damn old man!” Kagura said, voice already recovering from the explosion of smoke. Meanwhile, Shinpachi is still writhing on the floor, unable to breathe and slowly turning purple. Gintoki crawls to the boy and pats his back until he gasp and begin coughing as well. 

“You tell him, Kagura! It’s the ticket to a lifetime supply of parfaits, how can I resist?” 

“No! It’s a lifetime supply of sukonbu and Sadaharu’s food!”

“Well, sucks to be you, but I touched it first so it’s parfait!” 

Gengai shakes his head as Kagura jumps at Gintoki and tries to tear out his natural perm. “You idiot, nothing like that will come out.”

The two abyss-bellied, penniless invaders stares at Gengai, fight momentarily forgotten. 

“But why?” Kagura demands, jumping off Gintoki and puffing out like an angry canary. “You said it will give out food if we touch it! We snuck in here and deactivated your bodyguard robots for that, where’s the fruit of our hardwork?”

“Kagura-chan! You’re not supposed to say that!” Shinpachi hisses and tugs her down. 

“But it’s the truth!” Kagura whines, “I even put off eating breakfast because I think we’ll getting a lot of sukonbu!”

“A lot of parfaits, you mean.” Gintoki corrected as he stands up. 

“As I said, nothing of the sort. Tama?” Gengai motions for his assistant who is staring at the monitors that beeps and clacks. 

“Yes, Gengai-sama. It’s taking form.” Tama answers and begin to type something out, the speed of her fingers dizzying for the three Yorozuya who are unused to technology. 

“I see. Well, this can be an important data to gauge the machine’s capabilities.” Gengai said, stroking his white beard. 

“What do you mean, Tama-san, Gengai-san? If it’s not food then what’s taking form?” Shinpachi asks, ignoring his two colleagues who began fighting over sukonbu and parfait, the very reason they ended up snagged in a race to reach Gengai’s lab. 

“I certainly created the Egg-On-Rice Lifetime Supply Machine to make an infinite amount of Egg-on-rice on demand, but as I said the second limiter is not installed yet.” Gengai taps the side of the machine, remodeled from his machine that caused the soul-switching fiasco, as it rattle and shake with a frown. “Without that, this machine will give you whatever you want most, not just food.”

There’s silence for a moment as the three Odd Jobs digested his words, then all hell broke loose, the shit hits the fan, the Kondo finding an Otae, the Sougo finding a bazooka. 

“Money! A lot of money! I’m a billionaire!” Gintoki screech giddily and tried to run to the machine but Shinpachi bodily wrap herself around his legs, crashing him hard against the hard floor. 

“No! It’s a thousand Otsu-chan magazine and CDs!” he screeches back, his hold on Gintoki’s legs not slipping even when one frees itself and begin kicking his head. 

“Shut up, you otaku-freak! Even if you get them it’ll just be one more proof of your virginity! Do you want potential girl to get turned off the moment they come into your room and see all of that? Huh?! You’ll get a game over screen before reaching the first villa--!” Gintoki’s shout is cut short by another feet slamming into his head. Kagura jumps over them with her umbrella open, shouting,  

“No! It’s my Neo Armstrong Cyclone Jet Armstrong Cannon!”

Two hands wrap around her ankles and brought her down, slamming her on the floor. 

“As if we’re going to let you have it!” Shinpachi shouts. 

“Come on you two! If we get rich, I’ll buy you whatever you want! I’ll even pay you five hundred yen per month!” 

“YEAH, SURE!”

“Gengai-sama.” Tama’s voice shifts Gengai’s attention away from the three screaming, grappling youngsters. Being young is scary these days. “It seems like the egg-on-rice un-limited replacement has reached full form.”

Gengai glances at the monitor and pauses. “Ginnoji! Who touched the machine first?”

“Huh?” Gintoki stopped trying to tear out Kagura’s braid for a moment, the three of them looking back at the mechanic. “Uh, I think it’s me.”

Kagura slams her forehead to Gintoki’s, instantly knocking his soul out for a split second. “No, it’s me! It gotta be me!” She whines.

“It’s done, the thing you wished for the most.” Gengai said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “But this is certainly an interesting development, hmmm….” 

“My money!” Gintoki resurrects himself and jumps away from his kids’ reaching hand before they can drag him back to no-parfait hell. But before he can open the door to the cylinder, something hooked to the back of his collar and drags him back bodily. 

“Gintoki-sama, please calm down and let me open it.” Tama said, using her broom to fling Gintoki to the other side of the room. “We don’t know yet what will happen since this is the first run, so it’s in your best interest to keep away until I confirm everything is safe.”

From the middle of a crater in the wall, Gintoki croaks, “I think this is already more dangerous.” and coughs out blood. 

He’s ignored by everyone, as expected. 

Tama shares a look with Gengai and both nods. She grabs the cylinder’s handle firmly and tugs. Nothing. A harder one barely made it budge, metal handle creaking under her grip. 

“Eh? It won’t open?” Shinpachi asks. 

“Seems like it’s stuck. Hey, Tama, you need a hand? One kick is all it take!” Kagura mimed a high kick with a confident smile, making Shinpachi pale. 

“If you do that the machine, this building and Gin-san’s egg-on-rice replacement will be destroyed!”

“Eh, whatever. It’s probably money and balls inside, crush them and they’ll still be fine.” 

“Balls are not meant to be crushed, Kagura-chan…” 

“It’s okay, Kagura-sama. This is the time to use Gengai-san’s recent upgrade.” With a hiss, a section of Tama’s calf slides open all the way to her knees where two holes are located. Light gathers inside, carried by the cables that connect to her whole body. The light grows and grows and she shout, “Tama on rice, soy sauce jet!”

Soy sauce spurts out of her knees, creating rainbows all around it. 

Silence. 

(Somewhere, Leucocyte King is squinting at the strange light that just went by overhead, shrugs, and continues to farm Medicine Herb.)

And then. 

Explosion. 

“What the hell was that! What kind of upgrade is that? Gengai-san what is it with you and soy sa—eakjfhkdsfjndf--!!” Shinpachi is thrown back when a blast of soy sauce hits him right in the face. 

Truly like the trail of cloud, gleaming beautifully in the sky, chasing after a jet, soy sauce arcs in the air, gleaming beautifully under the cheap 100-yen shop light bulb. The additive explodes from Tama’s knees like propeller, giving her the needed strength to fly. A masterpiece. The wing of Icarus!

With the added pair of wings, she throws all her weight back and pulls the door open. It creaks and fought back for the first few precious centimeters before slamming open, smoke bursting out like they were compressed into the small space. This time, the three are prepared for the smoke and covered their mouth and noses. 

“Are you al—ah!” Tama’s surprised voice came from the thick of fume, her geta clicks loudly like she palced all her weight on one leg. 

“Tama-san? Is everything alright?” 

“Tama, is it money? Is it balls? Is Tama buried in money? Is Tama buried in tama?” 

“If she is, we have to help her!” Shinpachi walks into the thick of smoke, eyes squinting to limit irritant coming into them. Soon, the unpaid hard work of the vent clears the room, showing them Tama on her knees, carefully lowering someone to the floor.

Shinpachi makes a worried noise and crouches down beside the unconscious man on the floor. “It’s a person…” 

“Yes. According to my data, his clothes are that of a prisoner’s.” Tama confirms. Her eyes glow red as she runs analytics. Frowning, she reaches out and touches the person’s abdomen, her hand returning bloody. “He’s malnourished and wounded. This person need immediate assistance.”

“Oi, permhead, where’s the money? Is this guy worth a billion? Should we sell him to Yoshiwara or the cop-dogs?” Kagura shouts and turn to look back at the older man and pauses. “Gin-chan?” 

Rubbles rains on the floor as Gintoki peels himself off of the crater, boots scuffing concrete as he struggled to stand. The blood on his chin and running down his face had nothing to do with the way every steps he takes are unsteady. 

Gintoki sees the man lying on his side upon the floor, kimono stained by blood and filth and his body is someone else’s. Someone else’s feet that caught on something metallic on the floor, someone else’s hand that feels the cold of concrete as he crawls, someone else’s chest that can barely breath, a heart that hammers so fast he can’t even hear Kagura’s worried call. 

Shinpachi steps back when Gintoki draw closer, the older man falling on his knees beside the unconscious man. With trembling hand he took the man’s right hand into his.

There’s no mistaking it. 

Even though the skin is paler and the hair is darker with filth, even though he’s visibly thin under the rough kimono and the wrist in Gintoki’s palm felt so fragile, there’s no mistaking the hand that hits him over the head countless time in his childhood, the hand that held the sword Gintoki adores.  Even after so many years and his face is blurred in Gintoki’s memory, becoming nothing but a smiling mouth and faint impression of a jaw, a nose and eyes invisible under bangs, the warm hand that caress his hair on that corpse-strewn battlefield is still as vivid a memory as reality. 

“Sensei…” 

 

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are there not tags for Katsura Kotarou & Yoshida Shouyou? Why? Are they not cute enough to deserve a tag? ; - ;


	2. Storm Cloud and Wildfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shouyou, Katsura and Gintoki.

Katsura always considered that he’s different with his two schoolmates.

Of course, their beginnings were the same. They gained their wings from the same man, tempered their swords in the same war. But there’s always a fundamental difference between the two of them and him. The forest fire and the ocean waves.

Where they fell in love with master Shouyou as a person, Katsura fell in love with his ideals. When they start the war to save him, Katsura joined to uphold his aspirations. When they fell into despair because of his death, there was only righteous fury smoldering inside him at the proof of this country’s need for a change, from that day on the cliff to this very second.

For Katsura, it was never Shouyou. It was always Shouyou’s teachings. Unlike Takasugi and Gintoki, what calms down the raging waves hidden underneath his skin was never Shouyou’s smile and gentle hands, but his words of wisdom. It was not despair of over his death that drove Katsura forward, but their master’s vision of a better world.

He made that his mission. To honor their master’s death, to make sure his choice to save their lives won’t be a choice made in vain. That’s the ideals that enabled him to step forward.

But now, there’s a knot in Katsura’s chest that won’t untangle. His hands are shaking, making water drop from the shallow pail he’s handing over to Gintoki. But that doesn’t really matter when Gintoki’s hand is shaking just as badly as his.

Without word, Katsura scoots forward and places the man’s head on his laps. With every dabs and swipes of the damp washcloth in his hand, pale skin begin to overtake the grime and dirt and dried blood, showing a face so familiar he had to bite back a sound from escaping.

There’s no mistaking it. There’s no mistaking _who_ it is.

Katsura hears the shuddering exhale that fell from Gintoki’s mouth when he looks up and sees the man’s face free of dirt. His red eyes are wide, fist clenching so tight on the washcloth water are dripping to the tatami.

“Gintoki…” Katsura reprimands softly. The other man swallows and ran a hand roughly down his face, looking away.

“Yeah.” He croaks, nodding his head. Repeating that same word a few more times as he reaches out to the man’s obi.

Katsura leaves him struggling with the knot. The usual Gintoki wouldn’t have such a basic trouble if he’s not distracted. And if this person on Katsura’s lap is not the biggest _distraction_ there is, then Katsura will lose grip on what the definition of that word means.

Katsura places another shallow pail beside his laps, pulling all of Shouyou’s hair gently and placing them inside. He slowly pours water over the filthy strand and combs from the scalp to the edges with his fingers. It doesn’t take long at all for the water to become murky, dark brown tinted with orange-rust. After making sure there’s no wound on Shouyou’s scalp, Katsura begins to work in the shampoo carefully.

“Are you seriously using woman’s shampoo?”

Gintoki’s half-hearted jab doesn’t have even a quarter of the usual fire.

Katsura glances down at him to see he’s successfully peeled the garb’s top and now cleaning Shouyou’s torso. There’s a sharp, hot knife stabbing through Katsura’s chest when he can count all of his ribs, protruding from his master’s skin like jagged rocks of a mountain. He can’t begin to imagine how Gintoki is feeling.

And to think this is the man who once berates him for eating so little, the responsible kid too used to rationing his food. The one who would give him extra attention at mealtimes to make sure he’s eating enough and would add more to his plate until Katsura gained full cheeks and his thin wrists becomes strong enough to fight on the same stage with his peers.

Katsura averts his eyes and focuses on his task. There are so many knots and tangles in his master’s hair.

_(“Kotaro, brush your hair like this so you don’t strain the roots. Yes, just like that.”_

_“Your hair is so nice, master. What shampoo do you use?”_

_“I use Pa***ne. But don’t tell anyone, okay?”)_

 “…I do. They’re much better than the male products. Those made my hair rough and frizzy. Like yours.”

“They’re also expensive as hell.”

“No. You’re just broke.”

Gintoki snorts and returns to his task. The flowery scent of shampoo fills the room even after Katsura rinses them off by pouring the content of another pitcher. He places the pail off to the side and begins the slow process of dying it with a towel. Trying to be as careful as he can.

Funny how the one man who stayed in Katsura’s memories as larger than life itself seems so small and fragile. Maybe it was because he never got to be any taller than Shouyou’s shoulders before he was ripped away from them. None of them were able to see their teacher eye-to-eye as an adult.

And now he looks much more human than the light Katsura remembered him as.

Katsura swallows, twice when the knot in his throat won’t go away with the first.

With a wide-toothed comb in hand, Katsura carefully untangles Shouyou’s hair from the bottom up. Just like how he was taught. All the little things he almost forgot seems to rush in—the little tidbits of hair care Shouyou would sometimes give out, the small gestures of love, and it gives way to so many other memories he’d rather not dig up.

“Zura, you okay?” Gintoki’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet.

Katsura clears his throat and rubs his sleeve to his face. They came off wet.

“Those are just my snot, idiot. And I’m not Zura, I’m Katsura.” he mutters, hand never stopping the methodical brushing.

“I never heard of snot coming out of someone’s eyes.”

“You do now. I can tell you all about the man who cried snot to you if you want.”

“I’d rather not listen to _that_. And you just admitted you’re crying.”

“I’m not. These are just saliva. Don’t you know our mouth and nose are connected?”

“…yeah, and?”

 “And if I can cry snot, I can cry saliva.”

“So you’re crying.”

“I’m not.”

Katsura snorts obnoxiously, a small part of him happy to see Gintoki putting on a disgusted expression. It’s much better than the melancholy plastered all over his face ever since he came here carrying the unconscious body of their teacher.

“We need to feed him.” Gintoki suddenly said. “A lot.”

“Yeah… I’ll order soba from Ikumatsu-dono.”

That remark got him a Look from Gintoki that’s half disgusted and half annoyed. “Seriously? Soba?”

“It’s best to start with tasteless, soft food. Soba is perfect.” Katsura deflects. He’s done combing Shouyou’s hair, it’s as straight and tidy as he can get it under these circumstance. Katsura sinks his fingers in the strands and combs through them, just to be really really sure.

And if the wheat-colored hair in his hands made the world distort even more and his snot/saliva to come out faster, well, Gintoki doesn’t comment this time.

“Oi, if you’re done there get your ass over here.”

Katsura mutters complaints under his breath—he knows his voice will break if he tries anything louder. He places Shouyou’s head back to the pillow and crawls over sit across of Gintoki, propriety taking a hike with Elizabeth to the _dango_ stand.

Apparently Gintoki didn’t even take off the kimono; he just let it hang open. Katsura makes an exasperated noise at this and got a middle finger to the face for his trouble. With their combined effort, they managed to tug the offending garment off and throw it to the corner where it’ll stay until it’s burned in the backyard later.

“Do we need to get his back?” Katsura asks as he cleans Shouyou’s hand. It’s hard and calloused, bones so defined Katsura fears even a firm grip will break the appendage. He cradles the hand as gently as he can.

It doesn’t escape his notice that Gintoki is doing exactly the same. Even with his trembling hands, he’s still trying to go as slow and careful as possible, even though the heartache is so visible through his eyes.

“Guess’ we should.” Gintoki answers. He straightens up and drops the washcloth into the pail, absently scrubbing until the water turns muddy.  

Katsura slides a hand beneath Shouyou’s neck and another one under his shoulder, pulling him up and resting the man against him. Gintoki grabs the washcloth and scoots to the side. And just stops.

“Gintoki?”

“Those bastards.” The growl is low and menacing, Gintoki’s voice dropping into an octave that sends familiar sirens blaring in Katsura’s mind. In the war, that’s the exact tone that heralds disasters, the sign of an upcoming solo attacks and stupid, suicidal revenge missions.

And looking at Shouyou’s back, Katsura understands why. He’d give permission to this revenge raid. Hell, he’d lead the charge himself and take down as many as he can before Gintoki comes in and massacre the rest.

He’s still imagining ripping people to pieces even as he gather Shouyou’s hair to the side. How much he wouldn’t regret pulling their limbs off one by one. And if he still knows Gintoki as well as he’d like to think, he’s not the only one who longs for a skeleton to break right about now.

Gintoki’s shaking his head when Katsura places Shouyou back down. His lips thin and his eyes drawn tight. The mask of apathy, cracked. The tears in Katsura’s eyes, vaporized. What remains is the cold burn of a dry ice. The kind of cold that cuts, that kills.

Together, they unties Shouyou’s slacks and pulls it off. Seeing his back, they’re expecting scars and maybe a few open wounds. But what they did found makes Katsura pause and Gintoki freeze.

The storm that hovers over the horizon hit the beaches and under Katsura’s skin the waves roll like an ancient, furious god. His shaking spreads to his whole body. And he knows as angry as he is, Gintoki would be a thousand times more furious. If he’s sad, then Gintoki would be devastated. 

If this storm under Katsura’s skin can kill a hundred man, the wildfire burning in Gintoki’s eyes can take down a whole planet.

It’s his duty to douse those flame. It always has been. From the time of Shouka Sonjuku to the war, his duty always stayed the same as the ocean that calms the fire. It doesn’t change now even when he’s of the same opinion. Katsura grabs Gintoki’s wrist and squeezed it tight, staring straight into his red eyes.

“Gintoki.”

That one word includes a promise of _later_. Later, they will hunt down whoever’s responsible for this. _Later_ , they will rip then asunder with their bare hands. _Later_ , the disciples of Shouyou will take revenge for their master. Later.

For now, with their eyes staring into each other’s storm, Katsura reigns in the fire in Gintoki’s eyes with the storm cloud in his own.

Gintoki’s hand clenches and relaxes. Katsura lets go of his grip when he sees only smoldering ambers.

“We’re going to need to re-break his knee.” Gintoki said lowly.

Katsura nods and scoots back to where he starts. He gathers Shouyo’s head into his lap, bending down and burying a hand in damp hair.

The worst thing about this is how Shouyou only twitches when Gintoki breaks his bone and slides the misaligned joints to where they belong. Katsura sees this before in war-torn soldiers who too used to pain.

Katsura helps Gintoki with bandaging Shouyou’s legs and cleaning the rest of their master’s body. While carefully stitching a wound, Katsura thought of fires and waters and ideals and Shouyou.

He always thought he was different. He was wrong.

He might be the water to their fire but he’s not much different. He still hates and curses the world for what it took from them. The proof is how hard he tries to take down the country with Shouyou’s ideal as his flag so he might forgive himself someday.

He thought they loved Shouyou much more than he does. He was wrong.

The proof is right here, in the way Katsura’s very soul bays for blood.

.

 


End file.
